


Sherlock's Return

by ShinigamiAnateria (ShinigamiKnox)



Series: Co-dependence [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Fluff, John takes good care of Sherlock, Lots of Cuddling, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Sherlock Is Not Okay, Sickfic, Still, Thumb-sucking, kind of, nappies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:44:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinigamiKnox/pseuds/ShinigamiAnateria
Summary: Continuation of the Co-dependence series. Sherlock's back and things are worse than ever for him. There's a slight transition period in which John has to reassure Sherlock.





	Sherlock's Return

**Author's Note:**

> This part is incomplete but this is what I have so far. I'm not sure when I'll be able to finish it, so I apologize ahead of time.

Lestrade brought over a case sometime while John was at work. He got a cryptic message about heading to the morgue, or the cemetery, or something like that. For the next couple of days, Sherlock didn’t sleep, barely ate, but would occasionally sit beside John on the sofa with files spread around him. It turned out to be quite a spectacular case, even Sherlock admitted the slight brilliance of the perpetrator—“No one ever suspects the _grandmother_ , John!”—just before pulling his jacket off as he headed towards his room.

“Ah, Sherlock? Why don’t you sleep with me instead?”

“I think I can manage, John.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. _I_ want _you_. You’ve barely been home the last few days, let alone close enough to cuddle.”

Sherlock hesitated before relenting. “Let me just change into pyjamas. I’ll be right up.”

He didn’t wait for Sherlock, instead he chose to head directly to bed, barely stripping down to his pants before collapsing onto his bed. It was another five minutes before another weight settled slowly beside him, rousing him a bit. John shifted closer to the warm body and rested his head on Sherlock’s chest with a pleasant hum. Sherlock took a few moments to relax beside him but once he did, they were both basically dead to the world for the next ten hours.

 

Sherlock woke up to sunlight in his eyes. Turning over, he pressed his back to John’s side and snuggled further into the duvet. It felt warm and nice here. He stretched a bit and sprawled out in the available space with a quiet sigh. He felt a hand brush against his lower back as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

 

A few hours later, he woke up gasping for breath. John had gotten up a few minutes prior to use the loo, which left the other side of the bed empty but still warm. On the scale of nightmares he often had, this one hadn’t been as bad. Being chased through the streets of London was a lot less intimidating than being alone in a dark, foreign, wooded area. His heart still beat quickly but he was able to push past the panic to realise he wasn’t alone.

There weren’t many things that scared Sherlock. Someone easily frightened wouldn’t be able to pursue a life such as his. He wasn’t afraid of things he could control. He wasn’t afraid of relapsing or even death. The criminals he dealt with didn’t scare him. A handful had definitely affected him in one way or another, but they were human and could be beaten.

But when it came to being alone, Sherlock could do nothing to control that. He had almost no say in it if he were left entirely alone. If John left him, if Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and…Mycroft decided they were through with him, he couldn’t imagine what would happen. Relapse would be the least of his problems. 

It was the nightmares that preyed and thrived on this fear that made him feel so helpless. In the two years he spent alone, three consecutive months were spent locked away from civilisation in a small room with nothing but his mind to occupy him. He went nearly insane. When he escaped, he was barely lucid enough to find his way through the maze of hallways. He desperately wanted to return to London, to his own familiar bedroom, to John and never leave. Death would have been kinder, Sherlock thought.

In John’s bed, he sat up, hugged his bee close to his chest, and waited somewhat patiently for John’s return. With his shift in positioning, he felt the thick, wet material between his legs. Grimacing, he patted the sheets underneath him, checking to quell any of his doubts.

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” John said from the door. Sherlock felt his face warm slightly. “Sleep well?” he asked as he brought himself to sit on the edge of the bed by Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged then nodded.

“Do you want tea—Oh.” John had little say in the lapful of consulting detective he suddenly had. He slid his fingers through Sherlock’s hair slowly.

“Need the loo, first,” Sherlock groaned into John’s hip.

“Ah,” John said fondly. “Made it through the night all right, then?”

Sherlock, after a long, silent moment, slowly shook his head. “Need to clean up. Change,” he said curtly, still muffled by John’s clothing.

“Then, up you get, love.” John gently prodded Sherlock up and guided him into the loo. He wet a flannel with warm water before he pulled hesitantly at Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms. “You’ll tell me if you feel uncomfortable, yeah?” John asked, the tips of his ears burning.

Sherlock shoved his thumb in his mouth and nodded. His left hand tugged at the curls by his ear. John didn’t hesitate any longer. He pulled the loose waistband of his pyjama down and pulled the tabs at his hips open. A soft brush to his hip and an encouraging murmur, John pulled the material away and dropped it into the small bin next to the toilet. John ran the flannel along the insides of Sherlock’s thighs, along his front, through the patch of dark hair, along his penis and testicles with the efficiency of a medical professional. His soft grip on Sherlock’s hip guided Sherlock to turn and John continued his cleaning with a light but confident swipe along Sherlock’s arse. A last brush along the swell of his bum and John was pulling Sherlock’s pyjama bottoms back up with a soft pat to his lower back.

“Good boy,” John murmured. Sherlock took a half-step closer to John and tipped his head down onto John’s shoulder. “Let me wash my hands and I’ll make us some tea and toast. That sound good?”

Sherlock nodded. He pulled his thumb out of his mouth only to press his lips to John’s cheek in unspoken gratitude then went downstairs.

 

Sherlock no longer dreaded going to bed. Well, not as much. That night, when he appeared at John’s door, nappy in hand, John gathered him close and showered him in kisses. He guided Sherlock to lay at the foot of the bed.

“Lift, sweetheart,” John said, his voice barely above a whisper. He pulled the elastic waistband down just enough to let him slip the heavy but soft material under Sherlock, who settled into it slowly while John pulled the straps closed.

“A little tighter,” Sherlock mumbled around his thumb in his mouth.

“Like that?”

Sherlock nodded, his thumb already settled back against his palette and his eyes closed.

“Lift once more, love. That’s it.” John pulled his bottoms back up and tugged his shirt down. Sherlock sat up to wrap both arms tightly around John’s neck. With a soft chuckle, John brought his arms up around him. “That’s my sweet boy.” He pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder, the only place he could reach while in Sherlock’s tight grip.

Sherlock’s hold on John didn’t loosen until John slid his hands to Sherlock’s ticklish sides. That earned him a glare but allowed John to manoeuvre them under the duvet. Sherlock was counting his sixth breath when he lost count and felt himself getting pulled into sleep without a concern.

 

The next few days, they got into a rhythm. It took some time before the nightmares settled but waking up in the dark close enough to feel another person’s body heat helped in the meantime. Waking up to John every morning, getting soft kisses pressed to his forehead, his cheeks, as he lovingly brushed a flannel across his skin, it relaxed him more than anything else ever had. Even if Sherlock was dry or insisted he would shower, insisted that John didn’t _need_ to do this, John insisted he wanted to. It felt so good not to be alone; it was addicting. He never allowed himself to let go this far, but now that he had, he didn’t think he could return so easily.

At the same time, he was slightly worried John wanted more from him in other areas. He knew John would tell him or something would tip Sherlock off to John’s displeasure, but he also knew it was John, who enjoyed sex and physical intimacy in more…adult ways.

So, when they were sharing a rather passionate cuddle during some programme, Sherlock decided that was the best time to talk about it.

“You idiot,” John prefaced without thinking. Sherlock blinked. “No, not like that. We have an odd relationship, no doubt about that. I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I mean that. No other way.”

“So, you’re happy?” 

“Of course, I am, you ridiculous man,” John said fondly. He let himself be pulled into another soft kiss and brushed his thumb over Sherlock’s pronounced cheekbone. “The intimacy we have, while in a different way than most, it’s…intoxicating, Sherlock. I like being able to help. I like soothing you. I like being that one thing you look forward to in the morning, and don’t tell me you don’t, because you relax so much under just one touch of the flannel on your skin.” John caressed his cheek and jaw until Sherlock leaned into the soft touch. Sherlock let his cheek press against John’s shoulder, separated from skin by several layers of fabric. He pressed his cheek against his jumper and let his forehead rest close enough to feel the heat radiating off John’s neck.

The rest of Sherlock’s body rested between John’s open legs. He felt safe held by John’s thighs and his arms. Despite the half-hard cock pressing into his abdomen, he felt quite ‘little’ and dependent.

“You look tired,” John murmured against the dark curls on his lips. Sherlock hummed. He could sleep, especially somewhere so warm and comforting. “Let’s get you changed. I have something for you.”

Usually when John said that, he meant he wanted Sherlock in his lap and sucking down warm milk from the bottle John got him. They’d since moved Sherlock’s toys and other personal items to John’s room, where John could be there for him if need be, as Sherlock usually wanted. Sherlock was surprised at how effortlessly and subtly it had happened, yet, simultaneously, he wasn’t surprised. If he could trust anyone to give him what he wanted most, it would be John.

So, Sherlock agreed without hesitation. It was with some reluctance that he untangled himself from John’s body, but he was being led up the stairs soon after.

Sherlock laid at the bottom of John’s bed with his hips at the edge. John headed for the closet first to grab a clean nappy then pulled his trousers down with a quick kiss to his belly. Before Sherlock knew it, he was swathed in thick fabric covered by the thin, silky fabric of his pyjama bottoms while John began pulling buttons open on his shirt. Sherlock had his thumb in his mouth but removed it to allow John to pull the cuffs over his hands.

“Such a good boy,” John murmured with a gentle smile and a kiss to Sherlock’s wrist. He smiled back just before returning his thumb to his mouth. “Once more,” John pulled his wrist gently away from his mouth and pulled the cotton shirt over his head. “That’s it. All done.” John pressed a kiss to the inside of Sherlock’s wrist. Sherlock giggled as John nibbled the ticklish spot on the inside of his middle forearm. “Sweetheart, wait here a second.” John pressed a kiss over the spot he had previously bit. Sherlock felt cold air in place of body heat for a few moments until John took his place again by Sherlock’s right knee. This time he sat on the edge of the bed instead of kneeling on the floor.

“Open up a bit.” John slipped a smooth, cool plastic piece between his parted lips. Automatically, his mouth closed around the object in his mouth. It simulated his thumb quite nicely, however didn’t rest on his tongue and roof of his mouth in the correct way. The dummy was pleasant, nonetheless, as he half-chewed half-sucked on the flexible material against his tongue.

“It’s better for your teeth,” John explained. His hand caressed Sherlock’s face again. Sherlock reluctantly pulled himself up to the pillows and got under the duvet while John changed. He grabbed his bee off the bedside table just as John was joining him on the other side. Snuggled up to John’s side, it didn’t take long at all for him to fall asleep.

 

Soft kisses to his forehead, then his nose, woke him up in the morning. “Good morning, love.”  
Sherlock felt John’s warm breath on his cheek.

“Morning.” Sherlock nuzzled into John’s neck. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” John pressed his cheek to the top of Sherlock’s head. “You?”

“Better than I have in a while,” Sherlock’s voice was muffled against John’s skin.

“Yeah?” John slid a hand to Sherlock’s lower back with a sigh. “I don’t want to get up yet.”

“Neither do I, but I need to.”

“Fine,” John drew the word out as Sherlock untangled himself from the sheets and from John. Ten minutes later, they were cuddled together on the sofa, enjoying a lazy morning. Eventually snuggling turned into snogging in a more horizontal position. Sherlock found himself between John’s legs again while John stroked his hair and back.

Sherlock put a hand to John’s thigh to rearrange himself into a more comfortable position. John put his hand over Sherlock’s on his thigh.

“Okay?” John asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock slid his hand further up John’s thigh hesitantly, slipping his fingers under the leg of John’s boxers. He felt John’s muscles tense under his light grip. John’s hand returned to Sherlock’s neck, stroking his nape softly.

“Let me know,” John murmured his usual reminder just before Sherlock pressed another kiss to his lips. John took Sherlock’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucked. Tentatively, Sherlock ran his hand along John’s erection through his cotton pants. “Oh, hell.” His hand tightened in the little hairs on Sherlock’s neck as his hand squeezed John lightly. “Sherlock, if you’re not comfortable—“  
“I’m fine.” It didn’t seem to take much to rile John up and in no time, they were back to cuddling. John’s hand stroking between Sherlock’s shoulder blades lulled Sherlock into a drowsy state.

“Do you have anything on today?” John asked with his eyes closed.

“Hm, no. Not until later.”

“Should we—should I put you in another nappy?”

“In a bit. I’m quite comfortable presently.” Sherlock yawned as John’s hand ran along his back repeatedly. “After…after a short nap.”

“Mh, splendid idea, love.” John’s hand slid under the hem of Sherlock’s shirt. His hand stilled on Sherlock’s lower back; his palm warm against Sherlock’s skin. He let himself fall into a light sleep with John’s steady heartbeat against his ear. 

 

The next week brought on a case that had Sherlock running from one end of London to the next in a cold downpour. The rain lasted for days and Sherlock, despite his layers, returned to the flat soaked to the bone and shivering on more than one occasion. John pushed him to get a warm shower and wrapped him up in a blanket each time.

Two days later, Sherlock woke feeling too cold, too warm, sweaty, and shivering under the covers. He pulled his dressing gown around him to use the loo and returned with a box of tissues. He fell heavily onto the empty part of the bed. The motion woke John, who nuzzled into Sherlock’s warm body. He blindly kissed a patch of exposed skin under Sherlock’s jaw, then gave him a quick, playful lick.

“You’re sweaty,” John mentioned as his eyes blinked open.

“I don’t feel well.” Sherlock’s voice was affected by his clogged sinuses and he sounded especially whiny.

John sighed. It was true, doctors often made the worst patients, but no one compared to a sick Sherlock. “Have you taken anything yet?”

He shook his head with a pitiful attempt at a sniffle.

“All right. C’mere for a second.” John angled Sherlock’s face towards his and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead.

“Thirty-eight point five,” Sherlock murmured. He nuzzled into the crook of John’s neck.

“You already checked.”

He nodded in affirmation against John. “Don’t leave.”

“You’ll be fine for two minutes,” John assured him. “Some tea and cold medicine will help. If you want, I’ll grab the blanket from your room.”

“No,” Sherlock argued in a small voice.

“Where’s your bee, sweetheart?”

Sherlock dug under the blanket with the hand that wasn’t clutching onto John.

“Good. Cuddle up to him while I’m gone. I won’t be long.”

 

Twenty minutes later, John returned with two cups of hot tea, a glass of cold water, soup, toast, and cold medication on a tray. Sherlock appeared to be sleeping. John should have known better.

“Twenty-two minutes is a long time,” he complained. “It shouldn’t be possible to be this hot and cold at the same time. John, make it stop.”

“Mh, sit up, sweetheart. Just for a minute.” He situated the tray over Sherlock’s lap. “Medication, tea or water, then soup, understood?”

“ ‘m cold.” Sherlock shivered and pulled as much of the blanket as he could halfway up his chest.

“Okay.” John retrieved one of his own jumpers from their closet and helped him into it. Sherlock rubbed the soft sleeves against his cheeks. John settled in next to Sherlock and took a piece of toast. Sherlock sipped his tea.

He managed to eat some of the soup and a piece of toast before setting the tray aside to lay across John’s lap. John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair.

“Tissue,” Sherlock demanded.

“The box is barely a metre away. You’re able to reach it yourself.”

Sherlock sniffled. Twice. Three times. He had made it clear he’d keep doing so unless John obliged him, so John did. He, also, put the box itself right next to Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock’s free hand grabbed John’s left hand and guided it back to his head.

“Don’t stop. Ever,” he demanded. He shoved his thumb into his mouth quite petulantly for about half a minute. With an exasperated whine, he gave up trying to soothe himself this way, as he was unable to breathe through his nose. John stroked the sweaty curls at the base of Sherlock’s neck.

“I want Thai for dinner,” Sherlock said sleepily.

“Yeah, okay.”

Sherlock shoved his face into John’s stomach. He reached around John for his mobile on the bedside table. He sat up quickly as he opened a text from Lestrade. His vision blurred slightly and his head felt light for a moment from the sudden movement. “Case,” Sherlock mumbled as his head caught up with him. 

“No, not today.” John settled back against his pillows and head board. He knew Sherlock couldn’t resist the temptation to sprawl out on top of him. Sherlock hesitated, distracted by his mobile.

“But it’ll make me feel better.”

“No. You need rest.”

Sherlock began to pout. John put his arm out in invitation and Sherlock reluctantly laid down beside John with his head on John’s chest. His hand slowly stroking along Sherlock’s back settled him down.

“Why don’t we pop down and watch some telly?” John suggested. He hoped it would take Sherlock’s mind off being sick and the potential case that probably wasn’t even up to his impossible standards anyway.

“Boring,” Sherlock whined predictably.

“I’ll let you watch whatever you’d like.” Translation: Sherlock could watch reality programmes and argue with them, or the latest mainstream show Sherlock had gotten attached to without John teasing him for it.

“Fine.”

“You have to get up so I can get up.”

Sherlock made a show about getting up and pulled the duvet around his shoulders. John grabbed his bee and the tray. Sherlock curled up on one end of the sofa as John cleared the tray then joined him. He laid down with his head in Sherlock’s lap while Sherlock flipped through programmes.

“You’re going to be sick in a couple of days,” Sherlock murmured.

“Yeah, probably, but I would have been anyway. You breathe all over me when we’re asleep.” At least this way kept Sherlock from whining too badly.

Sherlock absentmindedly stroked John’s shoulder while he settled on an old episode of Doctor Who. After setting the remote down on the coffee table, he plucked his bee from John’s arms. His hand on John’s shoulder tapped out random patterns while they remained silent.

“John,” Sherlock murmured softly just as John was nodding off.

“Yes, Sherlock?” John didn’t open his eyes.

“I…” He sounded nervous. It wasn’t exactly uncommon since he’d reappeared in John’s life, but it made John give Sherlock his immediate full attention. He sat up and placed his hand on Sherlock’s thigh.

“What is it, love?”

He already had his feet underneath him and was curled in on himself, but he managed to close himself off even more. “I want something. I mean, we’ll be sleeping a lot…” He looked like he hoped that would be all he had to say. John was still lost. Sherlock was caught somewhere between frustration and pleading. “Iwannabeinanappy,” he finally muttered. His face was bright red. John blinked.

“Sherlock, sweetheart, you’re going to have to be a little more articulate.”

“I want. To be. In a nappy,” Sherlock forced himself to say. He quickly glanced at John but looked back down to pick at his pyjamas. “If you’re not comfortable, I completely understand.”

“Is that it?” John attempted to stifle his confusion and amusement. He knew it took a lot for Sherlock to admit. It shook him that this wasn’t something he even had to think about.

Sherlock nodded. The pad of his thumb kept running along his lower lip. He did that often when he didn’t want to seem little but really wanted nothing more than to suck his thumb and nuzzle into his bee.

“Well, okay. I’ll go get one, yeah? I’ll change you out here?”

Sherlock began fussing with his bee instead of his pyjama bottoms but nodded in agreement. He was still fussing with his bee when John came down.

“On the sofa or the floor?” John asked to announce his presence.

Sherlock took to one side of the sofa, putting his head on the armrest and allowing John to settle in on the other end. Sherlock automatically raised his hips when John pulled his waistband down. John’s gentle hands guided Sherlock’s lower half back up to set the new nappy underneath him. He closed it as snuggly as he usually did before pulling Sherlock’s bottoms back up.

“Is this okay?” John felt the need to verify that this is what Sherlock wanted. He saw Sherlock nod before he went back to his bee. John realised that acknowledging this shift in nappy usage would be better put off until Sherlock was more his bigger self. Sherlock never asked for a nappy. It had become their routine before bed. He usually woke up dry, but for the occasion he didn’t, this made things easier and Sherlock felt more comfortable. But when they were awake, Sherlock never asked for nor wore a nappy. This was entirely new ground for both of them. John wasn’t sure if it was because Sherlock was sick or something else, but boundaries had been shifted enough that Sherlock felt comfortable enough to ask John to do this.

Sherlock took a moment before he moved back to sitting up; John moved next to him with a supportive arm around him. Sherlock kept fiddling with his bee even as his head fell onto John’s shoulder and he practically melted against John’s side. It was clear to John that Sherlock was no longer paying much attention to the programme playing, but more to his bee and to John’s presence.

“I love you so much,” John murmured softly against Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock couldn’t help his smile as he nuzzled into his bee as well as John. His warm cheek against John’s shoulder kept rubbing against John’s shoulder, slowly, quickly, slowly. He didn’t need Sherlock voicing it; he knew Sherlock loved him, too. 

John could tell he was cold, though, especially when he shivered against him and pulled the duvet around their shoulders tighter.

Eventually Sherlock fell asleep with his head against the back cushion of the sofa. John helped to settle his head on a pillow against the armrest. His head was raised enough to keep him from an intense coughing fit, but not so steep enough to make Sherlock’s neck ache after an hour. 

John, too, settled in as much as he could with the remaining sofa space. For a while, the stray coughing from Sherlock kept jolting him awake but after some time, he fell into a deeper sleep.

Sherlock woke up soon after. He wanted John and his attention, but settled for just watching the man. He’d taken the small space at Sherlock’s feet, so he had his head against the back cushion and was sitting up. Sherlock was certain he’d fallen asleep in worse places and positions, but he still felt somewhat bad.

He got as close as he could while trying not to disturb John’s rest. When a hand came down on his head in John’s lap and began stroking through his hair, he knew he’d failed.

“I think I’m getting your cold. Do you want to go up to bed?” John’s voice was soft, barely audible over the programme playing in the background.

“Yes.”

“You have to get up before I can, sweetheart,” John reminded him, again, patiently. Sherlock eventually lifted his head and they got up to head back upstairs.

“Do you need to be changed?” John asked before they got settled in. Sherlock shook his head. “Promise?”

Sherlock nodded. “I won’t lie about that,” he promised.

“Perhaps you should, you know, go, before we settle in?”

Sherlock flushed slightly. “And if I don’t want to?”

“That’s fine as well.” John, also, turned a little red. He liked their time together when he was changing Sherlock. He liked the way Sherlock snuggled into his body as close as he could. Sherlock, of course, would put space between them as he fell asleep, but the cuddling beforehand was pleasant.

John used their pillows to prop them both up a little bit more and Sherlock claimed John’s chest as his own pillow.

“Sleep well, sweet boy,” John murmured into the dark curls before pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s head. John felt him snuggle in a bit more before bringing his thumb up to his mouth out of habit. It was much easier for him to relax enough to sleep, John realised. However, with his sinuses congested, it wasn’t long before Sherlock’s nose crinkled, and he huffed in irritation.

John chuckled softly and began rubbing Sherlock’s back slowly. With time, Sherlock had moved onto his own side of the bed, lying on his stomach. John laid on his side, rested his head on his own pillows, and continued rubbing large, slow circles under Sherlock’s shirt. His skin felt warm, warmer than usual, and his fingers brushed the occasional scar.


End file.
